


Divide

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Extremely, How Do I Tag, I need to stop writing this ship, Ill write sad Cronus someday, Kurloz is german, M/M, OOC, PTSD, Rated M for Kurloz's language, Sad Kurloz, Sadstuck, cause I thought it'd be fun, cause that's what I write best, cronus is Scottish, im so tired, mentions of past physical abuse, sadstuck is my fetish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 10:00:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5159552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had to learn to numb out his feelings because they are irrelevant unless he wants to get a blade in his back. If he didn't numb it himself, his father would numb it with his fists. It's what he's known for so long and it's all he knows now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Divide

**Author's Note:**

> When I'm sad I write sad Kurloz and I happen to be sad and thus this.
> 
> I'll write sad Cronus some day I promise.  
> I love Cronus jfc he's trash but he's my trash

He shakes his head slowly, strands of ringlet curls falling around his face as he looks down at his boot clad feet, arms at his sides. Usually, he looks so intimidating, your sweetheart, wearing black constantly and tight jeans, huge boots and this leather trench coat. He's not today, though; he looks small and frail, despite the fact that he's over 6 feet high. You realise how narrow and sloped his shoulders are, how thin his waist is, the curve of his hips, almost girlish figure that he buries under his baggy band shirts. He doesn't look so frightening when he's stood there in your Outsiders tee and his underwear, all ghost white skin and thin fabric. Partner it with a rough German born accent and he just doesn't seem to know where he stands on this situation; half of him wants, /needs/ to be strong and the other half wants to collapse and give up. You can tell, he knows you can. And it frightens him. 

"I fuckin let you in" he finally speaks, quiet and shaken, voice failing and giving up on him. You feel something spark inside of you then, something that shouldn't, when you know all that he's been through; his father raising him hard and cold, teaching him that he cannot demonstrate his emotions; no one can know when he isn't OK because that's when people will take advantage. He had to learn to numb out his feelings because they are irrelevant unless he wants to get a blade in his back. If he didn't numb it himself, his father would numb it with his fists. It's what he's known for so long and it's all he knows now. Until he met you. With his self-induced  
trust issues and reluctance to form relationships, especially after Meulin, he's a tough wall to wreck. But you did it. 

And it doesn't feel worth it, for some toxic moment. You're entitled to go out at night; you can go to a club with your friend. You were drunk, you're gay, for fuck's sakes! How can he think it meant anything that your hands were on that pole girl's hips and your nose was in her cleavage, drinking in the scent of her cheap perfume. How could he think that you wouldn't rather have been hiding your face in his chest and getting drunk off his touch and intoxicated by that cologne that makes him smell like steel and the ocean? You've worked hard to drill your way into him and break away the layers that he covers himself with, to melt away the icy barriers he keeps up to protect himself. It took you so long to make him realise that you weren't going to hurt him and that it was OK for him to trust you. He did, and it was really fucking /hard/ for him, and you've thrown it back in his face like dust and dirt.

But for a moment, you feel acid boil on your tongue.  
He speaks again when he thinks you won't respond:

"I trusted you" he informs you, not spiteful or cruel, but sad and sorry and laced with hatred for himself, not you. You don't think before you snap your reply.  
"Yeah? Well maybe you should learn from your mistakes, Makara!" The words are out before your brain even spells them, and his face when it hits him it horrific; his eyes widen a little and his brows flatten, mouth only slightly open and it's like you've put a pike through his heart. You continue.  
"You're being a fucking crybaby. I was drunk as hell, you think that shit meant anything? So the date of our anniversary slipped my mind; end of the fucking world! You're just being a whiny bitch about an issue that shouldn't need discussing" 

He freezes up and you swallow hard, waiting for him to snap, waiting for death to shine in his eyes but it /doesn't/; he's just /not/ angry. And it cripples you then when you realise, it shatters your heart when it transpires to you and you piece it together; he believes you. He thinks you're right. 

"What, you think that you deserve all this sympathy cause you fucked everything up with your last partner, huh?" He's shaking his head then, responding like you're his lieutenant, his officer on parade.  
"You think I should be more tolerant and pass everything off as some shit to do with your fucking mental disorder? That I have to always agree and forgive just because daddy used to hit you?"  
You've done it now, jammed the blade into the vein. You can see it in his face, like a needle pierced his facial nerve; pure disbelief and agony and worst of all /understanding/. He's been trained into thinking that what others see in him is true because he's never suppose to let anyone see and he tries so hard that it hurts him but when someone does see, he just thinks that it has to be correct because he has failed. 

You feel your anger simmer as he sobs.  
He can't.  
If he does this, it'll break you.

Nobody can think of a moment that they saw Kurloz Makara cry. Not Mituna, not even Meulin. He never let his father see him cry, much less his mother. You've never seen so much as a tear in his cold, piercing eyes and here he is with rivulets of water streaming down his cheeks. Because of you. The way he cries is the most broken, restrained, heart-wrenching sound you think you'll ever hear. Having to hear him is like being forced to hold onto burning iron bars to keep yourself from falling into shark infested waters with your wrists slit. You feel your heart quite literally ache. It's worse when you realise that he's holding his breath, after all this time he's trapped those little crystals of water behind his eyes he's still trying to make it stop for no other reason besides the fact that he thinks you'll hurt him if he doesn't. He's broken and bent to the point that he thinks that if he expresses something you're going to physically punish him. It's...

Heart breaking. 

His arms wrap around himself then, teeth gritted as he forces himself to be silent, refuses to allow himself the relief of finally letting his composure fail but his hopelessness and emptiness is getting the best of him. It's because you can't listen to his suffocated sobs anymore that you approach him, arm outstretched to him and it's horrible that it doesn't shock you when he flinches. He cowers back and suddenly he's not him anymore, but actually, in reality, he /is/ him in his purest form. "Don't, please! I'm sorry- I'm-" he chokes out words and just cries harder afterward, and you shake your head, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him to your chest. He seizes up as you hold him, until you stroke his shoulders gently, show him that you're gentle and you're not cruel, and he doesn't have the will to not believe you. 

He collapses against you and grips onto the back of your shirt like it's his lifeline, he's shaking hard and crying harder and what evil possessed you to say those things to him? You get the urge to shush him as he cries, but you can't because it's what he needs.  
"It's alright" you whisper, one hand moving up to comb through his hair, and he hides his face in your shoulder.  
"You're alright, I'm not going to hurt you"  
He whines in a way that you think means he'd let you if you wanted to. 

"Don't leave me" he begs, it's sudden and you're surprised; he's so afraid that you'll hit him and scream at him but through all that what petrifies him most is that you'll leave him. He's prepared to submit to your fists and your words and everything in-between, he just wants some part of you. No matter what kind of attention, negative or caring, he's just trying to keep it. He'd let you beat him black and blue on the only condition that you kissed his cheek or held him when he did something right. You feel tears in your own eyes. 

"No, baby...I'm not gonna leave you...Love you too much"  
"I'm sorry-"  
"Shh...You don't have to be. /I'm/ sorry" 

His sobs quieten slightly as he presses his face against your neck, and you hold him closer to you than you ever have


End file.
